


How Good Is Goodbye

by indigomini



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Angst, Ex Sex, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-03
Updated: 2019-04-03
Packaged: 2020-01-04 09:01:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18340448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/indigomini/pseuds/indigomini
Summary: Maybe the past should stay in the past.





	How Good Is Goodbye

**Author's Note:**

  * For [at1stsoo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/at1stsoo/gifts).



> For Lizzie, for her 3 year writing anniversary. She requested angsty smut and drink coasters.

Military had been good to Kyungsoo. He didn’t get a Captain America level of transformation, which is good. It wouldn't suit his proportions. His shoulders are still slim, his figure overall still petite, but the change is tangible, and especially in the way the muscles round out in his upper back. He fills out a plain tee much better now.

“Nice titties,” Jongin smirks as he gropes over Kyungsoo’s firm chest, and then smooths his hands outward, squeezing Kyungsoo’s biceps. Not super ripped, but there is definitely more bulk now than his twiggy freshman days. He feels so  _ solid _ , it’s delicious, magnetic.

“Pilates,” Kyungsoo answers with his signature crooked half-smile, half-sneer. It sounds like a joke. No doubt there is more truth to it than he hopes Jongin would hear. Self-effacing humor had always been more his style, and Jongin can't picture him as a gym rat to maintain the soldier muscle mass. The familiarity is both relieving and disturbing to recognize. It stirs dark waters, knowing that some things have changed in the past years, while others have not.

They kiss, and he tastes the whiskey Kyungsoo had earlier and the distance of time it’s been since last they’ve been intimate. They’re barely buzzed by this point. It was all just a ruse anyway, biding their time before Jongin delivered the inevitable invitation. Kyungsoo kisses with confidence and experience, both of which Jongin has as well now, but this is a seductive, melting kiss with a stranger, not the bilateral fumbling of two awkward virgins with more libido than finesse. Kyungsoo moans, low and soft, and Jongin answers his mating call with something similar, one hand palming over Kyungsoo’s chest again, the other slipping underneath his shirt and feeling over the smooth skin of his lower back.

“I like the place,” Kyungsoo murmurs into his mouth, walking him backward through the dark hallway, deft fingers making short work of the buttons on Jongin’s oversized shirt.

“Thanks,” Jongin’s shirt lands on the floor seconds after they cross into the bedroom. “I like it too.”

They’ve exchanged maybe a few dozen words all night. The bartender had dropped a bright cocktail by Jongin’s beer bottle with no further explanation other than a head tilt toward his left. His eyes zeroed almost instantly on the familiar face. His mind takes a moment longer to recover the name.

“Kyungsoo,” Jongin whispered then, like he whispers now, as he’s pushed into the sheets, shorts peeled off and tossed aside.

He’s not the first ex who has run into Jongin at a bar. He’s not the first ex Jongin’s brought back to his place for a haphazard reappraisal either. But he was the first — the first ex.

“This looks even better in person,” Kyungsoo sighs as his fingers sweep appreciatively across Jongin’s abs.

“In person?”

“I saw your thirst trap on Insta, like”—his brows knit together as Kyungsoo follows his fingers with the tip of his nose—”a few weeks ago, I think?”

“Are you’re Insta-stalking me?” Jongin bites his lip as Kyungsoo dips out of his line of sight. He grows self-conscious, laying there fully naked while Kyungsoo nuzzles into his thigh, still completely clothed. Sitting upright, Jongin shoves him back so he can attack Kyungsoo’s jeans, throat going dry at the sight of the growing bulge on the right inseam. He wants to touch, and resists laughing at the thought as he reminds himself that he can definitely touch.

“You show up in my suggestions. That’s algorithm, not stalking.” It’s another joke, not a defense. Too casual of a joke. A little defensiveness would’ve been preferred. Jongin’s ego suddenly bristles.

“I didn’t know you’ve joined the digital age with the rest of us,” he says coyly, deflects smoothly, fondling Kyungsoo’s shaft through the thick denim, placated when Kyungsoo’s breath hitches in response.

“What am I, a hermit?”

What  _ is _ he now… Jongin is definitely no longer the shy nineteen year old boy who got overly anxious whenever he was preparing to bottom. He doubts this is the same person as his Kyungsoo, who would turn beet red if he made eye contact with Jongin during a blowjob.

Let’s test that right now. Another yank, and Kyungsoo’s jeans open enough for his cock to spring out. Jongin grips it loosely, giving it a couple of absent tugs as he studies Kyungsoo’s face. He’s met with a calm demeanor, curious as to what will come, aroused and eager, but placid.

The one after Kyungsoo had been a hookup. The one after that, a disastrously short-term boyfriend. Memories of long-dismissed guilt return. Jongin recalls the first blowjob he gave to someone who was not Kyungsoo. He had been so weighed down by the irrational morality of recycling and transferring techniques from one man onto another, as if sucking one dick using the skills he learned off of the previous one somehow dishonored both the past and the present. It felt dubious. Traitorous. 

His plan was to tease, but Jongin mouths at the spongy head, slobbers over it, and then swallows, and swallows, until his throat opens, and trimmed, dense pubes tickle his nostrils.

The feelings are different now, but still present. Gone are the days where his eyes would water after failed attempts at bypassing his gag reflex, or where he’d flinch back, apology at the ready when his jaw grew tired and his teeth would inevitably graze sensitive flesh. He had learned well, and was keen to flaunt his changes, but now grows worried that his efforts might be too overwhelming.

Kyungsoo lets out a surprised moan and his fingers comb through Jongin’s hair, brushing it away from his face. “ _ Hnnng, fuck _ .”

Toward the end of their era was when Kyungsoo finally grew secure enough during sex to allow himself to make any noise outside of the ubiquitous grunt as he came. This Kyungsoo swears while his eyes darken with lust as they lock onto Jongin’s. This Kyungsoo grips Jongin’s hair and gently guides Jongin to deepthroat him over and over again. This Kyungsoo exhales sharp whispers of praise about how good Jongin feels, and  _ fuck, baby, open wide again. _

The doppelganger pulls him off and kisses him.  _ Finally, _ he smells like Kyungsoo, now that the sweat and musk have dissolved away the residual fragrance from whatever new cologne or body wash he’s sporting these days. He smells like Kyungsoo and he tastes and looks like Kyungsoo, but he lifts and tosses Jongin back on the mattress in one smooth motion and crawls over him with the swagger of someone who knows they are about to render their partner speechless with mind-numbing bliss.

“You look like you need some good cock inside you,” Kyungsoo delivers his offer with a rough nibble of Jongin’s lower lip as he settles between Jongin’s legs.

He should parry, but desire has flooded his senses, leaving no room left for wit. “Fuck me,” Jongin mewls, spreading his thighs further apart and pushing Kyungsoo’s jeans lower down.

Kyungsoo chuckles as he shimmies out of his pants, kicking them to the side. He is smirking as he looks over Jongin’s body. “You used to need a little more convincing than that to take dick.”

As if Kyungsoo had ever talked to him in this manner back then. This is a game of seduction, whereas their earlier trysts were focused on the least embarrassing path to slaking their lust. His cheeks tingle as he blushes, and Jongin slings a counter before he can weigh it out, “I enjoy bottoming when I’m with someone who actually knows what they’re doing.”

Contrary to his expectations, Kyungsoo laughs. Not an awkward, quibbling laugh, but a full throated belly laugh. He doesn’t flinch at all, crescented eyes filled with mirth. “God, we were some dumbasses back then, huh? We thought we knew everything, though.” He pets over Jongin’s body until he reaches his hips and gives him another yank, bringing Jongin’s ass more properly in alignment with his hips.

Jongin needn’t have worried. You can’t hurt someone who no longer cares. He deflates. If he were keeping score, he would be down, zero to two. Except he is fretting over Kyungsoo’s latest comment, and wondering to what extent of dumbassery Kyungsoo believes they were.  _ Jongin _ is handing lube and condom over to his first lover. The person who takes it, who flashes a sexy, wicked smirk full of promises at him, whose slick fingers tease his hole until he twitches with impatience — this man might not regard him the same way.

What had been such an irrelevant detail for years suddenly grows very pressing, as Kyungsoo extracts helpless squeaks and sighs from him, clever fingers adjusting and calibrating as they seek out what must be every pleasurable spot inside him. Spots Kyungsoo had never explored to this degree before. Was he Kyungsoo’s first love, or nobody’s? Did Kyungsoo mourn when he told Jongin it was over between them, or did he feel relief? Or did his next guy, or the guy after that, or whoever the fuck it was who taught him how to open Jongin up and make him see stars right now, did  _ that _ guy burn away and replace every memory of immature, inexperienced Jongin from Kyungsoo’s naive, young heart? 

Kyungsoo takes his own cock in his hand and strokes as he positions it against Jongin’s sloppy, readied hole, easing in with care. It only vaguely feels familiar. Kyungsoo reaches for his discarded bottoms, peeling the briefs away from his jeans, and using that to wipe the lube from his fingers. He hikes the front of his dark tee up and then balances above Jongin, arms tensing as he readies. Such a considerate, gentlemanly transformation. It still  _ is _ Kyungsoo, all grown up and seasoned, no longer aiming hands-free and making a mess or worried about precariously balancing to keep lube from smearing onto the sheets. He leans down and finds Jongin’s lips again in a sweet, slow kiss as he starts to move.

Jongin pulls the shirt up some more. As much as he wants to level at least one playing field and remove it entirely, it anchors him in some way. Shields him. If he fists the material high enough, folds his legs up more, it and his shins are nearly enough to block Kyungsoo’s face from view. His other hand is free to play with Kyungsoo’s nipples, grope over his defined chest, and trace every mole he can reach. He used to do this, once upon a time, when Kyungsoo had told him he loved him and meant it.

He doesn’t love Kyungsoo now. He did, and he missed him and mourned him when they were over. He has loved since, but differently. They didn’t talk about any of that earlier, of course. They talked about employment and politics and flirted over what Kyungsoo meant by a cocktail when he’s shooting whiskey and they didn’t talk at all about how two people who’ve never lived with anyone aside from their parents and siblings would have naturally butted heads when they moved in together, or that forgetting to use drink coasters a few times on hand-me-down furniture isn’t an unforgivable character flaw that demanded the severance of a beautiful relationship, or if he wanted to thank Jongin for visiting his mom while he was in military, he should have fucking done it in person, instead of passing the message through their parents, as if Jongin was just… just some ghost of the past.

“ _ Hhhh, Jonginnie, you feel so good, _ ” Kyungsoo squeezes his eyes shut tightly and sighs in oblivious pleasure as he hammers into Jongin's body, a hand cupping and squeezing his ass and lifting him up to amplify each smooth fuck. He’s too willing. Jongin only needs to pull lightly, and they’re face to face, Kyungsoo’s lips coaxing and teasing, his thrusts never stuttering. He’s here for a good time, and he’s making the most of it.

As he should. As Jongin should.

Jongin doesn’t kiss hookups. Strange as it seems, it just feels too intimate to have someone’s mouth against yours, versus having them inside of you. He can’t even remember who initiated the kissing tonight. It must have been him and his newly exhumed lack of closure. It must have.

“ _ Ahh — ahhh, _ ” he chants, once he’s rolled onto hands and knees, Kyungsoo’s pelvis slapping hard against his ass, a hand in his hair, twisting his head to the side.

Kissing was so idealized at first. Media portrayed kissing as some intensely pleasurable thing, but in actuality, coordinating two sets of mouths has a lot more involved. Or at least when it’s a uniquely new experience, anyway. He remembers Kyungsoo confessing that he didn’t really understand what he was supposed to be feeling, back when his kissing style was, in essence, attempting to mimic fingers using lips, and gently plucking at Jongin’s bottom lip with them. Or their scandalous, initial forays into sex, knowing that their necks are sensitive, erogenous areas, and that hickeys are something naughty and new, and therefore, in some odd way, prized and gifted.

He has moved on since then, but those memories are still something dear to him. They make Kyungsoo forever something dear to him. Yet this person, this new and improved Kyungsoo, can fuck him with the emotional attachment of a one night stand. He can echo through every intimate act they’ve initially discovered through each other and feel nothing but the physical stimulation in heat of the moment.

“Oh. Oh Jongin, fuck,” moans Kyungsoo, hissing through clenched teeth as his cock pulses, swells. He moans some more, deep and drawn out, as he comes, hips slowing as he rides out his orgasm. He bends, back-hugging Jongin, sweaty and panting as he drops soft kisses along Jongin’s spine. Already, he’s softening, but he continues the slight thrusts until his cock finally shrinks enough to slip out.

Carefully, Kyungsoo tugs the condom off and ties it, and Jongin is fighting irrational tears of disappointment when Kyungsoo wads his briefs around the used rubber and wipes the messy lube away from Jongin’s ass. He shifts, and then something wet and warm slides over Jongin’s hole.

He gasps, clutches the sheets, and arches deeper as Kyungsoo’s tongue laps at his swollen rim. It took him by surprise, but it’s— It’s good. Kyungsoo knows what he’s doing, cleverly spearing in and out and alternating with softer, languorous attention to exactly where it’s needed, all the while, teasing and tugging at Jongin’s leaking, still aching cock.

A nibble on the inside of his left ass cheek startles him again, and Kyungsoo giggles unceremoniously before he spits onto Jongin’s hole to push a finger back in, laving around it with a flattened tongue. It strokes right against a spot that sends tingles down Jongin’s legs with every brush.

Kyungsoo mouths down the underside of his balls, still jerking Jongin off as he adjusts some more, so he can slurp Jongin’s cockhead between his lips while his finger works over Jongin’s prostate. It’s overwhelming. It feels way too intimate for how casual he is behaving, and too intense for Jongin to be level headed otherwise.

“Mm, I’ve missed how you taste,” Kyungsoo sighs contently, before taking him back into his mouth.

His knees buckle as Jongin comes with a drawn out whine, legs bordering on collapse as Kyungsoo’s finger relentlessly assaults his spasming hole. Kyungsoo’s mouth is hot and slick around him, and each swallow sends another ripple of pleasure through his entire body. With a whimper, he pushes Kyungsoo’s face away, too sensitive now to handle more. He lands on his side, sticky and breathless.

A scene plays out in his mind where Kyungsoo stands up, offers him an amiable pat on the butt, and leaves without another word. Good game, now goodbye. He doesn’t want to move, as if Kyungsoo has some motion sensor that would activate and turn that into reality if Jongin budges.

“Wait, isn’t that mine?”

Reluctantly, he looks up, turning to see what Kyungsoo is talking about. Hanging off the side of his closet door is a sparsely stocked hat rack. The one at the very top, unused for who-knows-how-long, is a dark cap that reads “The All England Techno Club.” Jongin squints at it.

“Yeah.”

Kyungsoo’s lips jut into a small pout. “That was my favorite hat.”

“I think you left it in the dryer when you”—Jongin licks over his lips to mask a stutter—”moved out.”

“I thought I had lost it…” Kyungsoo says in awe.

On second thought, Kyungsoo leaving right now might not be bad. Leave, so Jongin can not feel these feelings anymore, so he can find some new guy to blight out and smother this memory.

“Where’s the shower?”

He swallows as he straightens his numb legs out. “Down the hall, on the right. The blue caddy is mine.”

Kyungsoo kisses his shoulder as he rolls over Jongin. It’s just a simple peck. Affectionate, if Jongin can stomach interpreting gestures right now.

“Come rinse off with me?”

Another swallow. “‘Kay.”

It gets easier to breathe once they soap up. Somehow. Kyungsoo scrubs his back and turns around so he can do the same, and it’s too, too familiar, but it doesn’t sting as much. Somehow. Maybe he’s just numb, or maybe the touches are too rote and practical to evoke any real emotion. Or maybe the feelings were fake alcohol emotions, and a good nut was all that he needed to evict that from his system.

Kyungsoo mumbles a shy, “Can I stay the night?” and for a moment, he doesn’t look like the glowed up stud, but the cute, awkward chemistry lab partner who used his inability to calculate entropy as an excuse to hang with Jongin after school.

The sheets smell like sex, but they sleep fully clothed, with Kyungsoo spooning into him, borrowing heat… like always. He wants to talk. About something, anything, but Kyungsoo is snoring softly by the time he’s reached the end of that thought.

He’s weak. “Do you think we could have worked things out back then?” Jongin asks the next morning, once his roommate leaves for work, and they huddle around the coffeemaker in the kitchen, sipping the bitter drinks.

Kyungsoo shrugs, an easy smile coming to his lips as he stares at the ground. “Nah,” he says, eyes meeting Jongin’s.

Ouch. “Why not?”

“I was… dumb and stubborn.” Kyungsoo takes a braver sip. “I kept wanting you to just…  _ be _ somebody, and I didn’t even know who that somebody was, and I didn’t want to explain it. I guess… I wanted you to always just read my mind, and I got offended and frustrated that you couldn’t.”

It is silent, suffocatingly so. Honesty between ex-lovers must be some oxygen scavenger, gobbling up every molecule between them. “So did you ever find that somebody?”

As if Jongin just told a joke, Kyungsoo laughs, dry, under his breath. “Nah,” he repeats. Another lull. The air is tense as Jongin bores holes into him with his staring while Kyungsoo pretends to not notice. Eventually, he clears his throat and arranges another smile, another sip. “You’ve changed so much, Jonginnie.”

Pot, it’s too early to speak to kettles this way. “How so?”

“You used to be”—Kyungsoo’s tongue darts out, and he bites down on it before retracting—”so transparent. Easy to read.”

“And I’m not now?”

Kyungsoo shrugs, once again good natured and cheery, casting him a sidelong look. “We don’t know each other anymore. Maybe you still are. Maybe I’m wrong. It’s been known to happen.”

There’s a chance here, he can feel it. An opportunity to make the right quip or observation and keep the door open. Except nothing springs to mind. L'esprit d'escalier, no doubt an excellent vintage for him to savor later. His chest still aches from the unintentional jab. They  _ don’t _ know each other anymore. It’s just the truth.

Kyungsoo drains the last of his coffee and studies the empty mug. “I gotta get going,” he says, a careful enunciation in each word. “We can grab drinks again sometime, if you’re down.”

The ache intensifies, but Jongin is a cool statue externally. He doesn’t think he can handle becoming Kyungsoo’s booty call. Not like this, not where the scales are so unbalanced, and he wants nothing more than to hold on and beg for another chance, and Kyungsoo is able to crack jokes and ask questions with the indifference of a spectator. “Maybe,” he says, doubt weighing down the two syllables.

Another easy smile. Almost a smirk or a sneer. It looks too much like the Kyungsoo in the end of their time, the snide Kyungsoo, the short tempered, distant Kyungsoo. His eyes shine as he leans in, pecking Jongin on the corner of his mouth, his fingertips briefly ghosting over Jongin’s cheek to counterbalance. “It was really nice seeing you again.”

“You too,” he hears himself say, somewhere in the distance, beyond his shields.

It takes a little detective work, hours later, once he’s had a good cry and another shower, to locate Kyungsoo’s username. He has to sift through a few old, mutual friends, and at first glance, almost skips it, but the bio catches his eye before he clicks back and starts over:

[ _ ‘Leaving the city with you is like a watercolor painting.’ _ ](https://twitter.com/choconini_/status/1097437315801112576)

The account is mainly shots of food. Jongin has to scroll down a few swipes before he finds photos of Kyungsoo with his brother and other familiar faces. The bio seems familiar, although he can’t place it. It lingers, just on the tip of his tongue. He runs it through some search engines, but nothing fruitful surfaces.

His thumb gets tired just hovering above the darkening screen, and Jongin eventually rolls his eyes and hits the Follow button. Not that Kyungsoo was following him to begin with. Just algorithm. Just ships in the night. Just nostalgia for the past, or some variant thereof.

His phone vibrates with a new notification:

**_ksoo__93_ ** **_  
_ ** _ started following you. 0s _

**Author's Note:**

> In case Soo's profile sounded familiar, you can revisit this here:  
> <https://twitter.com/choconini_/status/1097437315801112576>


End file.
